


Distorted Desires

by LiviSakura



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Akira's Crippling Addictions, Anal Sex, Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, F/M, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Phantom Thieves - Freeform, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Royal Spoilers Beware, Self-Indulgent, Status Effects, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviSakura/pseuds/LiviSakura
Summary: Akira Kurusu ignored all the signs and willfully smothered his concerns in bad monetary decisions. It isn’t until he’s faced with an obsessive group of thieves that he decides, yes. Maybe he has a problem on his hands.Equipped with a blanket addiction and a caffeine dependence like no other, Akira has to face a reality where he is the unwilling recipient of a harem.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Morgana, Kurusu Akira & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Futaba, Kurusu Akira & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Kurusu Akira/Niijima Makoto, Kurusu Akira/Okumura Haru, Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji, Kurusu Akira/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 13
Kudos: 171





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> So… this is self indulgent as hell, if you hadn’t guessed. This is also my first fit on this site and probably one of the first fics I have a vested interest in making as stupid as possible.   
> That said, be warned, updates are going to be random, possibly unwanted by the sane populace. My schedule doesn’t leave much room for my brand of bullshit, but I’ll still manage to inflict this upon everyone at unknown times. I also use the cursy words fairly often. Beware!
> 
> Things to note on the setting: This is based on a reality where Akechi decides to take a different path. This is also based on a timeline where Maruki is taking over mementos, but Akira and the Thieves’ dreams have severely altered.   
> Let’s call it for what it is, it’s a crack fic. Not meant to be taken seriously, more just for sating Joker ships and giving poof boy some love he probably needs after everything he puts up with.  
> Forward march!

Akira, in hindsight, really should have noticed sooner. 

Far, far sooner.

Sure, mementos had plenty of weird side effects in the past. From rage so blinding he could feel a red haze consume his body, felt like he was huffing out angry breaths much akin to a screeching kettle. He could recall his head feeling empty, filled with thoughts that weren’t his.

Hell, he even recalled the awkward moment when, faced before a God the size of a damned skyscraper, he was inflicted with the most irritating boner in existence. Fuck lust. No one needed to pop a hard one right in front of their friends when faced with insurmountable odds.

Said odds which, he’ll remind everyone, they did manage to break and exceed, thank you very much.

Perhaps what really should have let off something was quite wrong was when that same, unwelcome erection had garnered some… untoward gazes from his companions. Hind sight is 20/20 he supposed, and maybe, just maybe, with the bout of blindness he seemed to have gained the glasses sitting on his nose shouldn’t be fake, after all. In his defense he hadn't had time to worry about it when death's shadow was looming with a high rate of success over them.

Or, really, the true hint might have been the group of times where he’d find himself in an intimate scene with a heated body pressed against him (in so many various forms), words whispered in confidence that were, decidedly, not as innocent as he previously assumed.

It’s not his fault he wasn’t enough of an ego maniac to assume all his friends wanted to either fuck him or be fucked by him.

Or it was his fault and denial wasn’t just a river.

Either way, he had a problem. Multiple problems, actually. Problems that were currently surrounding him in the last possible place he needed to be trapped. He had to admit, being stared at with crazed bedroom eyes while the rumbling of machines and the smell of bleach accosted his nose was less than tantalizing. What was it lately with the laundromat? If they wanted to air out their dirty laundry, it might have been nice for him to at least get a warning, thanks.

So, here stands Akira Kurusu. Leader of the Phantom Thieves, delinquent extraordinaire, king of the flawless bedhead look, cowering against the wall at the back of the laundromat. He presses his hands, sweaty, nervous, against the peeling wall, gunmetal eyes flicking around for an escape that was nigh impossible with nine other bodies squished in this tiny space. They were all struggling against each other to reach their decidedly distressed target, inventive cursing and insults being tossed around the room.

He rather liked the use of ‘cuntwaffle.’ Perhaps he would steal that insult, should he make it out of here alive.

But let’s back up for a second. You might be wondering how he got into this situation-

Akira likes to blame Shido (because seriously, fuck that guy) and magical dimensions. Really the truth of it is it had to have been mementos. He wasn't entirely sure what else it could be. Prolonged exposure messing with the brain? He couldn't be sure, since he'd never felt an intense need to corner a man while he was just trying to get some chores done, but there you go. 

Also coffee might be a probable culprit. With any luck maybe this is all just an over-caffeinated fever dream he’s having after Sojiro decided to test new brews on Akira’s ever willing palate-

“OW!”  
Akira lets out a yelp when a familiar, gloved hand manages to reach out from the pile of wriggling bodies, surprisingly (or maybe not?) sharp nails digging into his covered arm.

Never mind.

Dreams didn’t bring Akechi induced claw pain.

Fuck he needed a nap.


	2. Of Budding Friendhsips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira gets some quiet moments to learn about his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! This is a pretty good indicator of how these first chapters are going to be. I'll be building up the small, unsaid moments I always wondered if they had outside of Thievery. There's going to be a LOT of build up for this before we get to the Thieves getting handsy, we're going to have some fluff and cavities.
> 
> Dialogue won't happen much during these chapters while it's purely from Akira's perspective.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, it started with two blond bombshells. Well, rephrase that.

It was to Akira’s surprise. He’d never exactly had friends before who were so… touchy. Physical. Needy, even. Don’t get him wrong- to some extent the bespectacled boy was entirely too touch starved to complain. 

That said…

“Ah. I’m glad that’s over too, but… Ryuji your hand is getting a little familiar with the curve of my ass.”

Ryuji lets out a startled noise, pulling from their ‘victory group hug!’ as Ann had put it with his hands raised in the air. Akira eyes the fingers of his right hand which were lightly twitching. Suspicious. Five culprits, all guilty as far as he was concerned.

“Hey-that’s not- aw come on, man! Way to ruin a moment!” Ryuji flings his hands around in the air rather comically, putting on quite the show. Morgana quickly lost control over his cat reflexes, jumping from Ann’s shoulder to claw his flailing target.

The next yelp Ryuji let out sounded more like the squeal of a pig that just found out what bacon is.

Deciding to ignore the mince meat that was to be their companion, Akira turns his gaze to Ann, eyes softening just slightly. 

The run through Komoshida’s palace had been hard on her. Hard on her control, hard on her feelings about herself, hard on her overall view of the outside world. The victory hug she had made sure to claim shortly after leaving the school, not too long after Komoshida’s admission of guilt, had her sagging in their hold like the strings holding her aloft had been cut.

The irritated red edges to peridot eyes was all the indication Akira needed to figure out why the victory hug was really needed in the first place.

He’d never been much for words, but he did silently lift an arm as invitation. Ann was quick to claim the spot against his side in a warm side hug, smiling brilliantly like nothing had been uncertain just hours before. They walk along the streets to the station like this, ignoring the screeches of betrayal behind them as they leave Ryuji to his demise.

If Ann refuses to let go until Akira had to take a different train, well. For the sake of comforting a friend, Akira decided not to comment on it.

After their first trip into mementos, and a concerning amount of thought put into whether or not Morgana’s bones could really just morph into a whole ass buss, Akira got his first urge. 

“Dude. How the eff do you even sleep on this thing?” Ryuji groans, rubbing at his lower back. The blond delinquent had been all too happy to show up at Leblanc the next day, ready to hang out. This seemed to be code for escaping a worrying mother who was fretting over the remaining bruises left behind even after all the healing Ann and Morgana did. Akira half considered offering to buy the old man a cane for his performance.

He then recalled every morning he woke, stretched and moaned about his aching back. Deciding Morgana would rat him out on his own old man tendencies, he decided better of it. He was already getting little kid treatment via his breathing sleep aid. He didn’t want to imagine how much worse the nagging would get if they added in geriatric procedures to the scolding spree.

What was more important was joining Ryuji in glaring down his sad excuse of a bed. Milk crates were one thing, at least he wasn’t just sleeping on a mattress on the floor. The other matter was it hardly qualified as a mattress.

“If it weren’t for that Palace and mementos making me feel like I was run over by Morgana ten times every other night, I’d probably never sleep at all.”

“Dude… have you thought about gettin’ a new mattress.”

“Yeah. Also thought about the fact I had to buy a new model gun since somebody decided to see what would happen if they threw theirs.”

“C’mon, it would’ve been so cool if it came back like a boomerang! Can’t I imagine it into happening or whatever?”

“That’s not how that works you moron!”

“What’d you say ya stupid cat?!”

Akira wisely decides to ignore the occurrence of fight club session #229, instead glancing at his abandoned wallet by the staircase. Sure, mementos was giving him way more spending money than normal. Obscenely so, when he felt the sudden urge to decimate the local shadow population for some new recruits. He had more money in his name right now than he knew what to do with honestly.

The problem was that he was the leader. He should probably try and make wise decisions, right?  
Ignoring that its odd money from mementos somehow follows him into the real world anyway, he was pretty certain he had heard in the past it’s better to treat money as though it might stop flowing in at any moment.

Casually side stepping the toss of his deflated pillow (ah, the casualties of war) he scoops up his wallet and glances in. Well. He had earned a fair bit from his side jobs. Maybe he’d use that as his bad decisions fund, leave the rest for the Thieves. This he could handle. Probably.

Sure, he didn’t need to go and buy a whole new mattress, but he could get a few additives. Just to make it bearable. Besides, he was too lazy to bring one up the stairs just for it to go on milk crates. That just seemed an insult to the mattress he’d already decided not to buy.

The black haired delinquent makes his decision, nods to himself and leaves, ignoring the annoyed glance he gets from Sojiro as he passes by. He’s sure the sigh he hears from the man is induced by the distinctive thump of, presumably, Ryuji’s defeat from upstairs.

Akira comes back to Leblanc’s attic with four new blankets, a replacement pillow and a fizzy drink for the non believer who didn’t drink coffee. While visiting him in a cafe. Make that make sense.

The rest of the day was spent with a grumbling cat destroying the fluffy yellow blanket with his fur, Ryuji making a ruckus over his comic book he’d brought to try and get him into, and Akira letting himself bask in the fuzz of his new blankets. Sans the allergy inducer nine thousand Morgana was creating. He knew a claimed nest when he saw one. 

Akira found out rather quickly Ryuji liked to use him as a pillow. Whether this was because he was in a blanket burrito or because Akira refused to let anyone near his new pillow, it wasn’t worth questioning.

That was the first day he felt comfortable in that attic. 

_________

Akira was beginning to notice a pattern of behavior with Ann. She was intimidating as hell, a fact proven by her ability to tear apart shadows with only a whip and a will for bloodshed. That and she really, really did not like people talking shit about her friends. 

After meeting Shiho he had assumed it was just because the black haired girl had been so gentle that Ann took to voraciously protecting the more timid girl because of it. Ann was a bright personality, not unlike the sun on a warm spring morning.

Her temper left burns worse than any even his pale ass could get during the summer.

This became especially clear with the realization of two things:

1\. His first impression of Shiho had apparently been dead wrong. With how Ann recalled her being snarky, well. It made him all the more pleased they took Komoshida down. He hoped he’d get to know the real Shiho sometime, not the version of her broken down by the keeper of lust.

2\. Ann was not subtle. Akira could be oblivious, especially in social interactions, but even he had to take notice when rather suddenly, the rumors about him slowed down.  
They never stopped, not fully, but it was pretty nice not to have to walk down the hallways and hear them whispering about his supposed murdering tendencies at every turn.

“Ann?”

“Oh, Akira-kun~” Blond pigtails go flying, the young model scurrying over to him faster than he could say ‘crepes.’ 

Despite her bubbly greeting, it really didn’t match the atmosphere of what he just walked in on. “Ah… are you alright?” He directs the question to a wide eyed librarian. Was she shaking? 

The lady clears her throat, hand that he could definitely identify as shaking now, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Y-yes, Kurusu-san. Please, don’t mind me.”

Akira caches the slightest movement out of the corner of his eye, Ann having long since claimed the crook of his left arm. He turns his head to meet peridot eyes and is met with a snarl that melted into a nervous smile when she noticed his attention. Ann was not good at being deceiving. She didn’t even attempt to hide the glare she trained back on the woman, giving up trying to pretend she wasn't trying to psych her out. He realized he was learning a lot about her when the librarian lets out a slight, strangled croak and apologizes to him for her previous treatment. She assures him he can check out books any time, eyes flickering carefully around a certain model.

Confused, he lifts his unoccupied hand from its usual place buried in his pocket, trying to wave away her concerns. “No, don’t-“

Ann doesn’t let him finish, crooning about how Ryuji was waiting for them. She tugs his arm insistently, seemingly content her work on this particular victim was done.

It isn’t until later when he’s been ushered away to the rooftop for snacks and school bread taste testing that he realizes while his friend might not have been willing to fight against the rumors about her, she was all too ready to tear apart anyone that said an unkind word to him.

Akira hides a shaky smile behind a slice of sweet bread Ryuji had tossed at him upon arrival. 

Akira decided that day he would do anything for the blond with peridot eyes and a smile like the sun. 

He makes sure to send her off to visit Shiho with two fresh crepes. 

______

Sometimes Akira would get to see a rare side of Ryuji. It was only when, on a night when they hadn’t yet found a new target, the other invited him to come to his place.

Akira loved Sojiro’s cooking, but he’d be the first to admit the idea of getting to try a meal that wasn’t curry or whatever he could buy on sale at the market sounded amazing.

When he realized that Ryuji’s mom was too busy to cook, holding two jobs to support their little family, he got to see the new side of his friend. He doubted too many people would expect it, but Ryuji could cook.

Nothing overly fancy, and certainly nothing restaurant worthy, but somehow more amazing for the care. Akira is sitting at a small, chipped dining table, running a finger along the wood. The home was small but warm, scented like sandalwood. There was clothing draped haphazardly over chairs, shoes laying around ready to trip an unsuspecting victim. Overall it was a bit of a mess and terribly cluttered.

It didn’t matter. Akira felt relaxed as soon as he came in, gun metal eyes slipping shut as he takes in this sweet little home.

Ryuji is making omelets. Akira offers to set the table- he even finds himself hanging the coats draped around after getting permission from the runner.

Between the two of them, they manage to get a simple, nice dinner ready and a cleaner living room for when Ryuji’s mom comes home. Akira realizes that this might be a common routine for the faux blond, watching Ryuji work on the last omelet.

“Do you always cook as soon as you get back?”

Ryuji flushes, furrowing his dark eyebrows, tossing him a pouty glare. He’s not very intimidating while sporting a spatula in his hand and with the relaxed way he leans into the stove. 

“Course not. I usually just go and get us some Big Bang Burger or whatever sounds good.” He pauses, seemingly trying to decide how much he wanted to trust Akira with.

“But I always make mom something on Fridays. Kind of a way to thank her for making it through another week, y’know?” Akira does.

Especially when Ryuji’s mom came through the door, all messy brown hair and roguish grins all too reminiscent of her son’s. She pauses to stare at the cleaned room. It wasn’t much but you’d think they’d have given her an early Christmas with how she collapsed on to the couch.

It’s the first time Akira meets Ryuji’s mom. It's far from the last.

Not too many weeks later he realizes he’s been unofficially adopted, going over every few Friday’s to clean up just a bit or teach Ryuji how to cook a new dish.

The Sakamoto residence quickly becomes a second home. So much so he finds a black blanket with red trim draped over one of the worn chairs at the kitchen table and a mug for his morning coffee. When he asked, it was for those days when he’d stay the night, not realizing how much time had gone just talking with the Sakamotos.

Akira starts setting aside a bit more of his personal funds to spend on more ingredients, yearning to see them get just a little more for everything they gave him. If he could provide that by buying some groceries every Friday he gets to visit, well.

It was worth every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the mug he gets from the Sakamotos is totally a raccoon mug. Ryuji couldn't resist playing on the trash burglar joke.
> 
> Morgana chapters come later!


	3. Poor Morgana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I know Ryuji didn’t sit next to Akira at the hotel. I just liked the idea of them sharing a couch since they would probably get used to sharing space if Aki keeps visiting Ryuji’s house.
> 
> Another note: Aki flicks through quite a few emotions here. So it doesn’t seem like he’s completely flip flopping, I’ve always figured as quiet as he is, he’s always probably overthinking. Add multiple personas that probably affect his emotional state and… well, you get this version of a mess.

If Akira was honest, he wasn’t so good at the sharing thing. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to share, more that it simply wasn’t a normal option given to him. Time and time again, people just gave.

Gave their stories, gave their feelings, gave their thoughts… all he’d been required to do in return was give some time.

No one asked for him to give much of himself back, so he never did. He wasn’t certain they would have wanted that from him anyway. 

Akira was used to having others come to him for help for all he was worth and drop him when they were done. It’s part of the reason he doesn’t often bother to open up, and certainly not to just anyone. What’s the point if they’d just up and leave anyway?

He supposes he doesn’t have time to worry about his past relationships though when his current ones are all at the mercy of death by overeating. Shortly after defeating Komoshida Ann had suggested a celebration at a buffet. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing he’d ever experienced. Food was love but… food was also pain.

His food baby proved this. He feels an arm sling over his shoulders, a heavy body leaning into his side with a groan. 

Morgana has made himself into a distressed loaf by his thigh, making noises more akin to a dying frog than a cat.

Ryuji, too, groans like death has come knocking at his door- Akira feels like he’s not too far behind.

He’s fairly certain that last bit of tart he had was going to come up his throat and kick his ass. Or just keep wrestling with his stomach, in a fist fight with the food baby. Either or, both are equally painful. “I… ugh I need a bathroom.” Ryuji burps, then lets out a feeble sigh. The noise quickly turns to a high pitched groan as he rocks on the edge of his seat to stand from the couch, arms flailing for balance. His first few attempts are, notably, not successful. His legs seem to have given up on movement after the calories they had just consumed, and his arms were not creating enough momentum. 

“Ditto… please, carry me gently…” Morgana looks just as worse for wear, his legs disappeared somewhere in his fur, cute little ears flat against his head in distress. Akira sighs, groans as he stands not unlike an old man, slipping Morgana the Loaf into his bag with short, jerky motions. He was certain if he moved any faster he’d actually tip over and perish on the floor.

Ryuji sets a hand on his own bulging stomach, his other hand at the base of his spine. The two of them waddle along to the elevator with a grunting Morgana at each of their steps. Apparently Akira’s walking was too disjointed even from the safety of his school bag. If they looked not unlike two pregnant ladies in their poses, well.  
Akira was certain the blackmail would not be forgotten any time soon, if the phone a certain blond tyrant holds up is any indicator.  
Ann, the traitor, giggles as they go, all the while eating another tart.

Akira would be fine with never seeing another tart. Ever. Again.

It isn’t until they come down that elevator, fresh with anger at shitty adults and a splitting headache for Akira, that they get the chance to consider their future.

Ann had been accosted by a Karen of some unholy kind whilst they were away, a fact that just added to the rage bubbling under his skin.

“We’re really out of place here, huh?” Ann’s voice is so soft, forlorn in a way that makes Akira purses his lips, glaring silent daggers into the overly fancy gold trimmed mahogany table. 

“It’s always like this.” His cutting tone stuns the others into silence for a moment.

“Hey man. Are you okay?” Ryuji asks, brows furrowing. He leans forward, arms on his knees, black brows furrowed. “Earlier you got all weird when that prick was talkin’. You’re not usually this angry, I guess.” 

Ann sighs quietly, peridot eyes turning soft. “He’s right though. it’s like we don’t really fit in anywhere.” She twirls the end of a pigtail around her finger, eyes not really meeting theirs. 

Ryuji’s jaw works for a minute, seemingly deciding what to say. “Hey, Morgana… other people have palaces, yeah?” 

“Er, yeah. Anyone with enough strong emotion and a messed up cognition can make one. Why do you ask?” “There’re just so many shitty people around. I kinda wondered if we shouldn’t change more of those kind of people too. There have to be more people like us out there who don’t fit in an’ shitty people just keep tearin’ them down.”  
Idealistic, but sweet. Very like him. In a way he supposed having the powers they did should be used for more than a one off. That and perhaps it would get the twins and long nosed man off his back.  
Akira finds himself staring down at Morgana, who’s only visible features out of his bag were his head and paws. Akira gets an urge to pick up those paws and squeeze his toe beans. All stress could be handled by squeezing toe beans.

Morgana flicks an ear, a sign of interest. He remains unaware of Akira’s considerations. For the best, since he was sure he’d get a few scratches for grabbing Morgana out of nowhere anyway.

“So you want to continue as the Phantom Thieves?” Ann tilts her head, eyes wide. “I… well I guess it did feel really nice to give others hope. We have this power so we should help people, right? If we don’t… I’ll just go back to the way I was.” 

He wonders if that’s really is all there is to it. He stares down a plate, frowning slightly at the remains of their decimated food. Sure, he liked the idea of helping more people, but he was a tad concerned. It was one thing to go after one target like they did, but it was risky the more targets they chose. The more people who begged for apologies under their group’s name, the more they would be under scrutiny. 

It was a risk.

Especially for him.

He feels eyes burning into his skull, the black haired male glancing up through his long lashes. His gaze meets determined chocolate, bright peridot. He’d long since decided he’d do a great deal to help these two but it really was a heavy price settling on his shoulders. He returns to staring down the decimated remains of the earlier weird bean concoction that had, unfortunately, been created. 

Much like the beans, he finds himself having decisions made for him. 

“You’ll be our leader, right?” 

His fingers dig into his leg under the table, lips pursing just slightly. They don’t notice, though he does catch the flash of blue eyes. 

He didn’t want to think ill of them, they’d already done more for him than anyone else in his life so far… he did want to help. If he hadn’t made the decision to help others in the first place, he’d have never met these three. If he hadn’t decided to help again, he’d be sitting unwanted in an attic with no one to talk with.

He offers a smile, appearing far more steady than he truly felt, and nods. He didn’t have it in him to say no, wanting to cling to these people he was becoming invested in.

“Leave it to me.” Akira wondered how long before they’d leave him behind, too.

If he was honest, Akira had not liked Yusuke on first meeting. 

In his defense, what was he supposed to feel? His friend, a gorgeous fiery woman who can has and will tear people apart for looking at him or Ryuji wrong, who had been recently objectified by a disgusting pervert, was now once again being objectified.

This time by a weird kid claiming to be an artist.

Besides, what else was it supposed to be? Just admiration? This artist guy knew nothing about her other than she was pretty, and Akira was especially protective considering that they were still worrying every day about Ann’s mental health. Seeing Shiho struggle day after day, while in some ways was empowering, also left Ann in a state of destruction when she would call him after a hard session.

No, he hadn’t appreciated seeing someone who he was growing to trust and care for being scared out of her mind because this guy had been following her around. It wasn’t necessary. It was avoidable. It was pissing him off.

As far as first impressions? Yusuke scored a notable 0/10. 

It wasn’t until they realized Yusuke was being used and abused for his talent that Akira started to soften.

Only slightly, though. The nude painting blackmail had quickly dropped his sympathy back down into the gutter. 

Even as they fought side by side in Madarame’s ugly museum, he remained cold.

The others were beginning to take notice.

Yusuke seemed oblivious.

Akira avoided the discussion easily. It wasn’t hard to claim ignorance when all he had to say is he was trying to navigate the role of leader- just give him time.

Avoiding things when two blonds were getting increasingly concerned was way harder than fighting shadows. 

Did he mention he’s not used to sharing? Because he really wasn’t. Even the one time he and Ryuji sat down and talked about his past, it had been weird.

So weird he had quickly started deflecting the other’s attention to their present. It hadn’t been hard when Ryuji became concerned with his eating habits.

Ugh… so much ginger.

Anyway. Sharing. Weird thing, that. Even weirder when as a team bonding exercise (you are NOT subtle, Ann.) Akira found himself jammed in a tiny, spinning tea cup with the rest of the thieves. Caring is sharing. Apparently, sharing suffering is included on the list.

Akira had been to amusement parks many times- don’t get him wrong. He loved roller coasters. He loved the adrenaline inducing rides.

He didn’t love having his health at the mercy of a teacup and two blonde tyrants who had already consumed unholy amounts of funnel cake and cotton candy.

He swore if Morgana puked in his bag he was going to make Ryuji and Ann do his laundry for a month. And make them wash Morgana. AND clean his bag. The other thing he wasn’t so keen on was how much he was sharing his personal space right now. He was pressed in a spot between Ann and Yusuke, with Morgana probably being crushed in his bag between him and Ann.

The bag had originally been on his lap, but that hadn’t lasted long when the sugar crack monkeys had begun spinning them as fast as they could. 

Yusuke currently had his whole side pressed against Akira. This, well, he couldn’t get mad over. Considering how he was melded to Ann and how Morgana was becoming one with their hips, he couldn’t exactly say it was the weird artists’ fault.

By the time the ride comes to a stop, they’re having to be gently pulled out of the seats by gentle ride workers. One of which was snickering loudly in Akira’s ear as he lets him fall bonelessly to the grass once he’s safe from the monstrosity of the ride.

He thinks he can hear children laughing at them.

The Phantom Thieves, an upcoming group of justice delivering heroes, felled by the vigorous excitement of two members and a fucking tea cup ride.

Once he has revived a tad he peeks down into his bag- Morgana seemed to still be alive, though groaning in pain. 

As all things seem to go, the evil doers who caused the situation recover the most quickly, already up on their feet and discussing how much faster it would go if they’d had the other two to join in.

“Okay, but hear me out. Do ya think if we go fast enough we can launch Morgana like a missile?” “Ohhhh~ how cool would it be if we did something like that in mementos?” Akira protectively hugs his upset bag full of cat not cat who’s life seemed to be in danger.

When Yusuke gently helps him stand and they make a quiet escape from the two others, he decides to lighten up.

He might not be able to appreciate the whole nude debacle, but he could appreciate a fellow Morgana protector.

At least he wouldn’t suffer their antics alone.

Morgana is resting on a bench, recovering from his scrape with death.

Akira is sitting next to Yusuke, the two holding snow cones and letting themselves melt into their non-moving seats.

They hadn’t said a word to each other during the whole escape, and neither male had said anything thus far. The only noise to break the silence was Morgana’s delirious mumbles for ‘Lady Ann’.

“If I did anything to offend you, I do apologize.” Akira startles at the sudden deep voice, lips falling open to give an automatic ‘it’s fine-‘

“You’re quiet, but not unkind. Your relationship with the others is quite admirable as well.” He cups his chin, never quite looking at Akira. “You are a capable leader as well. I find myself hoping to grow a bond, but it isn’t happening so easily. I suppose that is my fault. I wasn’t particularly warm to you or Ryuji for many of out first meetings. I wish to make up for that.” 

Now dark eyes clashed with grey. He seems startled for a moment- reaches out with elegant, long fingers to lift his glasses. The previous topic seems to have been forgotten. Akira is… confused to say the least.

“Ah- you have rather stunning eyes. Such long eyelashes! They could flutter like a butterfly’s wing- this could be an opportunity-“ Akira stares at the artist as he devolves into some odd rant, all of it sounding like gibberish to the frizzy-haired male. He hides his face in his hands, part embarrassed, part to hide his silent laughter.

All this time he’d been upset about this guy being a pervert and he was just… socially awkward. 

An oddball.

An oddball who still needed help, since they planned to finish Madarame’s palace in just a few days.

He lifts his head from his hands, offering a smile. The sight seems to catch Yusuke by enough surprise he falters in his speech. “Er, don’t worry about it. We’re fine. I jut didn’t know what to make of you yet.”Akira offers a hand, humming a bit as he pulls Yusuke up. Now that he was actually looking at this guy…“Let’s get you something to eat. You could get in a fight with a stick bug and come out defeated. My treat.” He pauses to pick up Morgana, snickering at how the artist perks up at the offering of food.

He guessed team bonding had worked after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Terribly sorry this took so long. Got a certain nasty bug going around and haven’t been the most motivated. Stay healthy ya’ll!


	4. Of Crushed Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Akechi, getting a bit closer.

“That was a bad idea.”  
Morgana’s voice, though high with a childlike pitch, had been pretty cutting. And rather accurate, as it would happen.Something being a bad idea had never truly stopped Akira before. Some would argue that’s how he got here in the first place, after all. And, much like his previous decisions, he couldn’t find the will to regret what brought him here. 

He met Akechi through those decisions, after all. They’d managed to finish Madarame’s palace rather early- nearly two weeks in advance of the date when a report would be filed. With that time he made sure to separate his time between his side jobs and his confidants, knowing he’d need to maintain both if they kept up with the Phantom Thieves.

Goro Akechi had pretty eyes. Maybe though that was Akira’s bias peeking through. Being his favorite color was a bright red reminiscent to blood first drawn, or the color of a freshly bloomed poppy, he probably was being a bit dramatic.

Those eyes weren’t the exact shade he favored, certainly not the crimson of his gloves, but if he were asked to wax poetic- which regardless of the presence of an asker- were the color of an especially pretty cherry wood. Or mahogany, glossed to perfection.

Perhaps the reason he was defaulting to wooden comparisons had to do with how hard that same gaze was. While he was growing quickly enamored with those eyes (ugh, was he becoming Yusuke?) he had to say.

He hated that smile. 

Fake. Fake fake. So fucking fake. Wooden, practiced and utterly blank. It didn’t reach Akechi’s gaze and he wondered if they were pretty now, what would they look like brightened by a real smile? He had a guess he’d not be terribly likely to find out any time soon.

“Ah, thank you.” A gloved hand reaches out, calculated in movements. He is very careful not to touch Akira’s own in any way, grasping the bouquet with as much space as he could possibly create between their hands. Petty. 

“No problem.” Akira mumbles, retreating to the back. He can feel the moment that hard gaze leaves him, dismissed. 

Sure, Akira had heard of the guy, seen him on tv. If he was honest, nothing about Akechi had stricken him over those. Just some amicable pretty boy with a stilted laugh, nothing overly special about that. Seeing him in person was… an experience of its own, though. Akira wouldn’t quite consider himself a fan despite his admiration over the other’s optics.

If anything in his life was a constant, it was his own ability to figure out what people were like. He’d known as soon as he’d met Ryuji that he was a good sort, all delinquent front over a sweet disposition. He’d felt Ann’s kindness even when she hadn’t yet wanted to meet his eyes. Morgana, with all his headstrong commentary and raised hackles, an insecure individual. Even Yusuke, who had to break his walls first, had struck him as someone who needed some support.

Akechi was striking a chord that plain out made Akira feel like he was teetering on a ledge. He knew this much: that polite smile was a façade. A piss poor one, but he supposed (based on the clamoring of his boss) that it wasn’t a notion picked up on too often. Hidden by the glamor of being a celebrity, most likely. He didn’t have to seem real when his position set him up to be More.

The bouquet had been nothing extravagant. He’d been told to make something simple, so he had. Flower meanings weren’t under scrutiny it seemed and there hadn’t been any vocalized expectations. He tied off with a delicate white paper and brilliant crimson ribbon, the scent of begonias greeting him. Thinking back, a flower of warning caution was rather appropriate for such a meeting.

He watches Akechi leave with a fake smile and a thank you, leaving behind a far too curious thief.

Later, when the sounds of frustration met his ears, he was drawn to it down into an alleyway. In the same way his third eye would lead the way in the metaverse, he couldn’t stop himself from following sound of thumps, paper crinkling. The smart part of him knew this was a majorly dumb thing to do (horror movie trope type bad idea) but he kept on nonetheless. 

A small part of him was not surprised to find Akechi stomping on the flowers he’d put together not too long before, just when his shift had been coming to its end.

The smell of begonias was even stronger, crushed to the pavement in a mockery of what they had been.

“You know. There’s a saying about not crushing flowers with the boot of cynicism.” It was fascinating, watching this pretty boy, all soft long hair and fake smiles, whip to him with eyes bright with rage.

“Next time you need to let out aggression, let me know. I might feel generous enough to help you.” He crosses his arms, a challenging lilt in his tone. He can’t help a slight smirk, watching Akechi’s deep frown turn into a vicious snarl.

It was nice to see the reality in those eyes. They looked brilliant, narrowed yet alight with malice. Perhaps Akira shouldn’t poke the bear but-

Well, maybe he had a weakness for prodding flames that would undoubtedly burn. He’d blame a rebellious soul, Arsene cackling with intent somewhere deep inside.

Rather than try and revert to the charming Detective Prince, Akira’s smirk only widens when instead he’s met with a grin that’s all teeth, an obvious warning.

“And who the fuck asked for your help? Go back to your day job, trash.”

Hm. Akira thinks he might like that voice, too. It was rather like a hissing kettle, maybe. Simmering with a tone that, once honey sweet in deception, was now a growling resonance that threatened to bury him six feet under. Even the harsh spit of an insult left little sting under his scrutiny of the brunette.

“Absolutely no one. But next time you decide to ruin some innocent flowers, request me to deal with it.” He inclines his head, watching Akechi’s eyes follow him with a snap- predatory. “I’ll give you dying flowers to ruin. Save you money, you still get all the satisfaction.” Also the additive he wouldn’t mind as much if his works were already on their way out rather than fresh new blooms. Release the rampage on the wilted, please.

“Money? Something so trivial? Save it for someone who gives a shi-“

“Then do it for the poetics. You seem like the type who enjoys a flash of dramatics.” He turns his back to the other- the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Ohhh. A bit dangerous, turning his back on this type.

“You dumb fucking toglogdy-“Akira doesn’t bother to look back even as he hears the other seething insults at him. 

Yeah.

He liked Akechi’s eyes, especially when they were alive.

After that it wasn’t uncommon for Akechi to come by once every few days or so, much to Akira’s surprise. He’d rather thought he'd act a bit differently, in all honesty. All of the traditional good cop gone bad type of tropes, though he supposed Akechi being a detective didn’t necessarily place him in the normal box.

Admittedly, Akira started jumping on as many shifts as he could at Hanasaki after, intent on finding out what the other would do. Not only did he enjoy the job but a large part of him enjoyed the idea of messing with Akechi more, should he get the chance. Would he threaten him to silence? Go back to the broken facade? Not show?

Money helped, too. He’d held to his promise of keeping the mementos money for the Thieves as a whole. While they were earning an enormous amount of funds through that, he’d admit that having their new member made it all the more important to have plenty set aside.

Yusuke’s habit of forgetting to eat was very concerning to the leader of the Thieves. If Akira was funneling in more funds to sending groceries the artist’s way, no one commented on it.

His own financial straits could always use a buffer, too. His consistent purchases for visiting the Sakamoto residence were racking up, not to mention his coffee addiction he insisted on reimbursing. 

Sure, Sojiro didn’t make him pay, but Akira respected that the man was still running a business. Besides, if he became the older man’s best customer he’d likely have to lighten up on him. Considering the new lessons in coffee creation (a gift of whatever gods exists, says he) and the shiny new key to his cafe castle, he’d say it was working.

“You could bother to pay attention to your customers, Kurusu-san.” A voice, barbed with wire under sickly sweet tones, breaks him from his thoughts.

Akira smiles, grey eyes narrowing with all the mischief of the thief he is. “You haven’t said what you would like, sir.”

“I would have, had you not been off galavanting in that pea brain of yours.” His tone is so pleasant Akira doubts his boss even noted the ire of the words, the slightest flash of maroon eyes. 

The mask had been shattered days ago, but the cracks were all the more evident. And very amusing, really. Akira should maybe be a bit more concerned with his tendency to chase after entertainment that bordered on masochism.

With a flourish Akira motions around the small store, smirking at the detective. “Consider me rightly chastised. Now, I’m at your service~”

“Ah. Surprise me, then.” Akechi chirps, noting the owner’s eyes now focused on them, Akira’s dramatics having caught her attention. While Akira might be just dirt under the Prince’s fingernail, it seemed the swooning woman was another story altogether. 

She had not appreciated Akechi’s earlier request to have Akira be the head of his transactions.

“Surprise, hm?” He chuckles, waiting until his boss is distracted to start gathering the wilting flowers together. Understandably, the flowers who’s meanings were more unsavory were often the ones left behind long enough to get to the point of unsalvageable, despite their best efforts.

He ends up with slightly wilting yellow carnations, buttercups and a few butterfly weeds for a lovely combination of yellows and orange.

He offers the bouquet once finished off with delicate white paper and another bright red ribbon. With the boss still turned away, Akechi makes a point of snatching the arrangement from Akira’s loose fingers with more force than necessary. Several petals shake free in the exchange. 

He wonders if the other knows there’s a language just for flowers.

“Thank you.” Akechi’s voice speaks pleasantly, but his eyes scream daggers.

Akira smiles back, all teeth and narrowed raven wing eyes.

He doesn’t find the other hidden away again, crushing flowers under heel this time. He leaves after a cursory search, swearing he can smell something like vanilla.

For the time leading up to Madarame’s confession, the cafe attic become’s a very popular place for the thieves to be. Really this shouldn’t have been a surprise all things considered, but to Akira it really was. He’d never exactly had friends close enough in the past that actively sought to spend time with him outside of school.

It was a welcome change though. He made sure to purchase a small tv from the old man across the road for his room, along with a retro gaming system. His accumulation of blankets (6 and counting) was also steadily growing, making for a fine nest on Akira's sad milk crate bed.

He also considered the fact his plant was somehow still alive to be quite the accomplishment- something he preened at when Yusuke decided to sketch it.

Each thief had claimed one of the blankets, he, Ann and Yusuke all with a steaming cup of coffee in hand thanks to Sojiro. Ryuji, rather adorably in Akira’s opinion, was nursing a cup of hot cocoa.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on his tiny bed, ignoring the stressed groans of the milk crates below. Morgana sits curled in Ann’s lap, tail thumping lazily against Akira’s thigh now and again. They’re watching some rental film on his tiny tv- a less than compelling crime solving piece.

It didn’t matter that it was a ridiculous picture, Akira couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“So you met Goro Akechi at your job? Like… the Detective Prince? Like a celebrity?!” Ann nudges him hard with her shoulder- it seems the crime show had reminded her of Morgana’s concern from earlier.

“Mmhm.” He hums from behind his cup, wrinkling his nose when the steam fogs his glasses. He considers for a moment revealing Akechi's rather... different off screen persona- decides better of it. He rather like being privy to it, nor would he want to expose them to the vitriol that was the detective. Yet, anyway. He supposed it depended how this dance of theirs played out. Perhaps they would grow to tolerate each other-

Or Akechi would grow tired of him and strangle him with a red ribbon.

At least his death would be oddly poetic.

“Akira, don’t you mhm me you turd. Spill it.” She snorts at his offended glance behind steamed glasses. “The details, Aki, not the coffee.”

“He’s fake.”

“Big surprise there.” Ryuji huffs from his left, seemingly giving up on watching the show besides all the chatter. He loudly sips his cocoa in protest. Akira snorts in amusement.

“Ah…Akira hold that pose for a moment. That smirk behind the haze of a drink… yes, perhaps if I capture…” Yusuke pulls his sketchbook out of nowhere- how he always managed to hide it on his tiny frame, no one would ever know.

“Yuuuusuke! We’re talking about a celebrity and all you’re worried about is art?” She slumps back against the wall, pouting.She pulls out her phone, likely with the intent to ignore them for greener pastures. Otherwise known as Shiho.

“If an opportunity arises, it is an artist’s job to seize it,” Yusuke says grimly, balancing his coffee on his lap rather precariously. Ryuji flails once more, shaking the bed and groaning with boredom-

Akira watches the coffee tip over, the hot liquid painting the artist’s clothes. He guessed by the ‘HRK’ noise that left Yusuke, the hot beverage hadn’t felt good on his skin.

Ann squeals, hopping off the bed in time to avoid a certain artists flailing arms. Morgana, ever caught in the crossfire, yelps as his peaceful nap ends in a faceplant to the unforgiving floor. Ryuji isn’t so lucky, receiving a sketch book to the face, but being the perpetrator deserves the instant karma.

Akira slips himself to the floor with a fluid motion, never letting his own drink meet a similar fate.

He had his priorities in order, thank you very much.

Those priorities quickly changed to attempted murder when he felt hot cocoa sliding down his back, undoubtedly staining the soft red cloth draped warmly over his shoulders. “NOT THE BLANKETS-“

Akira is currently sulking in murky water to just below his nose.

“Ya look like Morgana after we drove him through a puddle, ‘Kira.”

“…”

“C’mon man it was just hot chocolate! I’m payin’ for the wash!”

“It was rather reckless of you to toss about with a drink in hand.”

“Oh shut it, Mr. Balancing Act.”

Akira sullenly splashes Ryuji. The blond looks rightfully offended by Akira’s poor public bath manners.

“Akira, would it help if Ryuji bought an extra rinse cycle?”

“Don’t just go offerin’ that!”

The leader of the thieves shoots the blond a look much alike a disappointed, judgmental cat after an unwelcome belly pat.

If he had claws, he’d add them to the mix. It’d be nice to trade with Morgana right about now.

“I’m not angry. Just disappointed.” Understandably this earns Akira a choke from the other two. Whether it be laughter or from distress, the curly haired male feels a tad bit better. 

He can hear the soft pad of paws- apparently Morgana had found a way to sneak past the people just leaving the baths. Now that the baths themselves were empty, the sneaky cat-not-cat had decided to grace them with his presence.

And, despite his denials of being a cat, he did still seem to truly hate baths. In short order Akira found his mop of black hair being used as a nest. The ravenette couldn’t bring himself to mind, leaning himself against the edge of the tub. At the risk of getting scalped, he didn’t dare jostle his current occupant. Unlike a certain two, he could be responsible.

Maybe still a little salty.

“You guys are such morons.” A paw flicks into his field of vision, batting at an unruly curl that stuck out. 

“Ugh, whatever.” Ryuji huffs out, stretching in the waters lazily. “Anyway. Kira. Still ignorin’ me?”

“Hm.”

“C’mon man. This involves you too, Yusuke.”

Yusuke, who was doing his ‘photo-frame fingers’ as dubbed by Ann, frowns in confusion. He blinks a few times, looking a tad surprised at the true claim.

Akira felt it wasn’t fair the artist got to look pretty even when he was being utterly oblivious. 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Mum wants me to invite you to the next family gatherin’. She saw those pictures of us hanging out at the park the other day.”

“In other words, she noticed how skinny he is and wants to fatten him up.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Morgana’s tail flicks, curious. “Hey! Where’s my invitation?!”

“Probably with your human body, cat.” 

Yusuke and Akira watch with bemusement as, yet again, Morgana launches with murderous intent on a dear, dumb blond.

“Try not to bleed in the water.”

“Ah, but that might make for an interest-“

“No, Yusuke. Not in a public bath.”

“Very well. Then I’ll try again at the lake.” 

“Go crazy. Just… don’t get arrested.”

“Noted.”

Akira had never been so relieved the bathhouse didn’t have around the clock staff. If he got kicked out of his favorite place for a leisurely soak (and his only available way to bathe) he’d probably have to consider finding out how far he could throw Ryuji in the metaverse.

There really was no denying at this point that Akira’s love language was gift giving. What he couldn’t communicate with words he would show in actions, time and time again. When he cared about people, he had an intense urge to just throw everything he could at them where he felt his words fell flat.

It’s part of why Sojiro starts sighing every time Akira comes back after work, sighting the bags that the other clutched like precious jewels. It was hard for the boy to resist buying little things for the people in his life when most of his jobs found themselves in shopping centers.

Akira slides a cute coffee mug over to his guardian, humming slightly in amusement when Sojiro snorts. 

“Normally it’s my policy not to accept gifts from guys.” Sojiro, eyes ever sharp, strokes his beard while staring down at the mug. Akira can see him already devising excuses to his previous statement.

“Hah… number two cat dad, huh?” Sojiro sighs in the quiet way he tended to default to now a days. Good.

He was giving in to Akira’s non existent charms. He feels the soft pressure of paws, Morgana peeking up over his shoulder with a huff. 

“I am NOT a cat. You shouldn’t encourage that!” Akira ignored the statement, instead gently placing the bag Morgana was still half perched in at one of the booths. He gently scratches behind one of Morgana’s ears, enjoying the reluctant purr that rises forth.

“You’re not getting into any trouble, right, kid?”

“As much as I can avoid, sir.” Akira says softly, rolling up his sleeves as he gathers the plates left behind by the last customer. 

Once upon a time, that answer would have earned him a glare. Instead it just earns him another soft sigh. “Jeez… get everything cleaned up fast. I don’t have all night to teach you more coffee tips you know.”

Despite saying so, Sojiro is wiping down the counter, already making his way around to claim a seat at the island. Akira suspected he enjoyed having coffee made by other people. Akira could understand the sentiment, always feeling the taste was better when you hadn't been the one to ruminate over it. He’d always loved coffee since he was a kid, though that was from less than optimal circumstance. Back in days when he’d be terrified his parents wouldn’t come home, work always more of a priority that the ten year old waiting in an empty house, and he would sit at home and drink as much as he could to try and stay awake until they returned.

Coffee made by others always tasted better, he found. No matter how much more he was improving, at least that fact bore the truth that someone else was there.

He takes care to absorb everything Sojiro has to teach. There were times when he could still see his record souring Sojiro’s opinion of him, but for the most part he’d dropped much of the coldness that had been present but a month before.

Going from a home where no one ever was to a home that was dusty and unforgiving as it had been at the start, at least there was someone there. The fact that someone even seemed happy at times to see him honestly felt like a dream.

He wipes down those thoughts with the same towel he uses to dry his hands, ready for his next lesson.

Akira fills the brand new Sojiro mug (freshly washed) with his latest creation and waits with baited breath-

“Heh. You’re not doing too bad, kid.”

He ducks his head in a moment of embarrassment, lets his hair hide his face, and smiles.

Around the same time that Madarame confesses, Akira stops getting visited by a certain feral prince.

A part of him misses the strained, weird dance they had going on for the past few weeks, but he figures that’s the way of things. After all, Madarame's dramatic apology had already caused quite the uproar, being broadcasted as it was.

It only made sense that a detective might be pulled away in work with many whisperings of vigilante thieves going around.

Besides. Morgana was right- now wasn’t the time to be poking the bear. That bear might just be the thing that gets him arrested, and strike two would undoubtedly ruin everything of his life that still remained.

The though of setting himself up to be caught stilled his thought, just enough to make him space out with distant grey eyes, only for a clench of claws into his shoulder bringing him out. He can’t help but wince- he really needed to clip those.

“Hey… you okay, Akira?” 

He adjusts his bag just a bit, slate grey eyes flicking to meet large cobalt blues peeking at him.

“Mm. Just lost in thought.”

He’s given a cursory stare- he’s not certain Morgana believes him. 

“If you say so… but don’t go getting distracted in public like this. We’re supposed to be laying low, you know!”

“Ah. Sorry,” Akira says lightly, under his breath so as not to attract the attention of passersby. It would suck if they realized he was talking to his cat. The extra judgement was avoidable, thanks. 

“So, hot pot. What ingredients you want?” Unsurprisingly, this line of conversation immediately derails the cat-not-cat’s scrutiny, his ears perking with interest. 

“Oh ho ho~ you should definitely get some sushi!”

“Sushi doesn’t go into a hot pot.”

“So?! It will make for an excellent side dish! I have a sophisticated palate I’ll have you know!”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you eat my ramen.”

“It was one time!”

“One time where I had to get a new litter box.”

“Ughhhhh stoooooop!” Morgana retreats to the safety of his sanctuary- aka Akira’s school bag. He mutters quietly to himself from inside, huffing when the leader of the thieves chuckles lowly in response to the ‘totally not pouting.’

Akira picks up some sushi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I say I'm both really thankful and really surprised by the kudos? I never thought this would get more than a hundred. Thank you all so much!
> 
> We finally get to meet Akechi. I decided we'd try and pull for the spicy side earlier on- that and the flower shop really is a convenient way to bring in plot. Love it.  
> Can also see Akechi taking out all that concealed anger on delicate things on bad days. I always wondered if he'd be the type to break things to even himself out enough to put his mask back on.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for what you just read.


End file.
